


Ricochet

by Toobizi



Series: All Laid Out [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Jason Todd, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dissociation, Good Friend Roy Harper, I'm Sorry, Inexperienced Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Dick Grayson, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toobizi/pseuds/Toobizi
Summary: Jason doesn't know how Dick got him into bed.He hadn't been planning on staying long when he got to Dick's apartment, just stopping by to steal some leftover takeout after a long shift at his day job—that's what he likes to call his activities as a makeshift crime boss—but then he didn't have a real reason to leave and Dick was smiling at him like he meant it, and then Dick was smiling at him like he wanted toeathim and Jason just wanted to let him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Roy Harper & Jason Todd
Series: All Laid Out [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620478
Comments: 14
Kudos: 274





	Ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I don't even know. I should be doing homework but here we are eating flavored rice puffs and writing about the boys. 
> 
> General hand-waving at canon event timeline because I goddamn well please. 
> 
> Jason and the Bats have a tenuous working relationship that has some obvious ~stipulations~. Jason can’t kill but gets a partial blind eye to his crime control tactics.
> 
> Jason isn't close with any of the Bats at this point except Dick, who has somehow wriggled his way into Jason's affections (probably through incessant banter—we all know the way to his heart is through pure snark). 
> 
> Summary and warnings in the end notes.

Jason doesn't know how Dick got him into bed.

He hadn't been planning on staying long when he got to Dick's apartment, just stopping by to steal some leftover takeout after a long shift at his day job—that's what he likes to call his activities as a makeshift crime boss—but then he didn't have a real reason to leave and Dick was smiling at him like he meant it, and then Dick was smiling at him like he wanted to _eat_ him and Jason just wanted to let him.

Except, Dick’s secretly a romantic, despite his reputation. _Even if Jason knows firsthand that at least some of the that reputation is earned—Grayson is a handsy bastard._

So tonight, when neither of them are patrolling and the evening is stretched out in front of them, Dick doesn’t just haul him off to the bedroom to maul him, though Jason doesn't think he would have minded. No, when Dick wants something a certain way, he usually gets it, and Dick likes a slow burn when he can make one. Call it a side effect of a fast-paced night life.

Jason has to admit he doesn't mind. Not now when it’s just the slow lazy lave of Dick's tongue across the bare skin of his throat, Dick hovering over him, bracketing him in with a forearm planted on the bed. Dick keeps redirecting Jason’s hands when he tries to push their glacial pace, so he stops trying. He’ll take what Dick gives him.

Dick’s bedroom is spacious and his bed is silky, because Grayson is indulgent like that sometimes. Jason watches the last of the sun’s rays move across the wall, gleaming through the large windows. Jason thinks the windows are a job hazard, but it does leave the room awash in soft, golden light.

It’s nice, sue him.

Dick moves a hand down between them and nudges at one of Jason’s inner thighs, telling Jason to spread a little more so that Dick can settle further into the vee of his legs. Dick's weight on him is blanketing. Dick goes back to tonguing at Jason's neck, and Jason lets his hands trace patterns over the skin of Dick’s toned back.

There both completely naked. . . which is new.

Jason’s never been fully naked with Dick. He doesn’t know what he was expecting but turns out it doesn't feel all that different from what they normally do. _Albeit much slower._

They’re usually all clashing teeth and hands under clothes, tangled on dark rooftops, on Dick’s couch, once when he happened to run into Dick at a club which Jason is still not convinced was an accident, despite Dick’s swearing it was.

Over the last month they’ve made out like the teenager Jason never got to be. Dick likes to tease him about being a late bloomer or whatever, but he died before he got around to this, and then there was the grave and the brain damage and the training and the pit.

Well, he’s catching up plenty now anyways.

And besides, he’s knows he’s no prude. He loves touching Dick. A lot. Dick is everything Jason’s not, all lithe and bright and _good_.

Dicks bites down on the skin right below his collarbone hard enough to hurt a little and gets a small grunt from Jason for his efforts.

"Stop thinking so loud," Dick says.

"At least some of us actually use our brains," Jason shoots back, but it lacks any heat.

Dick just hums, too distracted by Jason's right nipple.

It's just, this thing with Dick is _fun._ Jason hasn't had fun like this since. . . he can’t even remember when. Probably ever.

Stealing batman's tires had been fun, but it didn't have the same air as this. Hell, he had thought being Robin was fun. But all that fun had been all tangled up in danger and survival and feeling powerful for a change. This is different. Lighter.

Jason’s hands automatically tighten on Dick’s hips at the sudden breath in his ear, tickling and sending a shiver of pleasure down his body. A low groan escapes him. He doesn't mean for it to—not everyone can be as vocal as Dick—but it just happens and Dick leans back to give him a shit-eating grin, then leans in for a kiss, still smiling against his mouth, all smug that he got a sound out of Jason.

Jason flips them, hoping to knock that smugness right out of him, and Dick lets him. He settles over Dick and goes to capture Dick’s lips with his own, but it proves harder than planned because Dick won’t stop _smiling_.

“I can’t make out with your fucking teeth.” It comes out a tad more exasperated that Jason intended.

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Dick is all amusement and teasing, pointedly pinching at Jason’s bare side. “Are we _making out_?”

Well, it’s not like they’ve done anything _but_ make out so far. He wants to point out that less clothes usually means more sex. But then Dick is laying back to meet Jason’s gaze with mischief in his eyes.

He reaches behind Jason to firmly grope his bare ass with both hands, then has the audacity to _jiggle_ Jason’s cheeks.

“You’ve got one fine ass, babe.” Dick winks.

“What the fu—” The word breaks with Jason’s startled, harsh laughter. _Dick is fucking ridiculous_.

Dick is positively beaming at him and tries for another jiggle, but Jason swipes at his head and Dick has to dodge.

“Stop it,” Jason sputters.

“Sorry, they’re just so jiggleable.” He squeezes Jason’s ass again. He’s not sorry at all.

Jason tries to extricate himself from Dick’s hold on his backside, but Dick moves to pin his legs.  
Jason twists to get out of that hold, and then they’re full on wrestling like the boys they are.

For a long time they're reduced to grunts with the occasional burst of laughter—one bright and one rough—as they both try to best the other, breaking holds and rolling around until they are full on panting.

Jason likes to tease Dick about being short, but when he’s not being dwarfed by Batman it’s easy to see that Dick’s not actually that much smaller than Jason. They’re proportioned a little differently, sure, but Dick certainly doesn’t seem small now, not when he’s roughly flipping Jason onto his back and physically pinning him with his solid body. _Whoa._

He might say it out loud, or maybe Dick just takes in his wide eyes and flushed face, because Dick tightens his grip with a stupid knowing smirk and says, “Yeah?”

Jason can feel the moment pass for him to make a joke about a manhandling kink, but his throat is suddenly very dry.

He just looks up at Dick.

Dick’s mouth stretches into a wider smile.

They’ve ended up back where they started—Dick between Jason’s legs, hovering over him—but this time it feels more urgent. _Like it's finally going somewhere._

“Do you want to—"

“Yes.”

Dick huffs in amusement and gives him look that Jason might have called tender if it was aimed at someone else. Dick seems to look for something on Jason’s face for a moment.

“Ok,” he says. _They’re really gonna do this._ Then to Jason, “but you're gonna tell me if it's too much.”

He gives Jason’s knee a squeeze and leaves the bed, returning a moment later with a bottle in hand. Jason knows that this is his normal banter cue to chime in that nothing's too much for a guy who’s cheated death. Or maybe something more clever if he could think more clearly. He doesn't say anything.

He hears the crisp _snick_ of the bottle opening and Jason's attention snaps to Dicks hands. Dick pours lube onto a few fingers and rubs them together, coating them.

“Jay.” Dick is looking right at him. “I'm serious. Let me know if it's too much.”

Jason nods. 

Dick lifts one of Jason's legs and drapes it over a shoulder. Then he pauses again.

“You sure you want to?”

“ _Christ_ , for the last time, _yes_ ,” Jason huffs, indignant.

“All right, ok,” Dick snorts at him. Then he swipes his lubed fingers right over Jason’s hole and Jason definitely doesn't yelp and Dick definitely doesn't laugh again. The bastard.

At first it's just Dick rubbing slow circles.

Dick rests his cheek on the knee slung over his shoulder, looking down at what he’s doing, then up at Jason’s face. Dick’s kind of humming, low and dark, and Jason feels the small vibrations on his skin where his Dick’s face is touching him.

The pads of Dicks fingers circle, adding some pressure, testing.

Jason must make some kind of noise because Dick eyes him with the hungry look he first fixed on Jason earlier that afternoon, and then starts up a low litany of praise.

 _You’re gorgeous like this_ , Dick squeezing at the muscles of his thigh, _God, your body_ , a kiss to the inside of his knee, _So beautiful_ , Dick pressing his hard-on against him, _Can’t believe I get to have you_ , a thumb pushing harder at the furl of his hole, _I’m going to make you feel incredible_ , and on and on, words that flood out of Dick and surround Jason.

It makes Jason flush every time, skin hot with something like embarrassment but inside he positively preens. It's not something he's heard coming out of anyone's mouth except Dick’s. Thinking that you’re not-exactly-a-shlub and hearing you're definitely-not-a-shlub are apparently very different experiences.

Dick sinks his finger in up to the second knuckle and Jason feels himself tense up.

“You just relax, Jay.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, letting out a shaky exhale.

Then for a while there's just the slick and steady movement of Dick's finger, pulling out and delving back in, slowly stretching him.

“How’s it feel?”

“Different.” That's Jason, always the articulate one.

In truth it kind of aches, but he thinks it’s a good ache because it’s _Dick_ and _they’re really doing this_.

Dick suddenly grasps Jason's dick, letting his rough callouses rub so sweetly against the underside of his tip. Pleasure swoops low in his belly. Dick gives him a few strokes and then the hand is gone again.

Jason let’s out a groan of frustration. Apparently, Jason will make all sorts of sounds when he’s been left on edge for what feels like hours.

Dick stupidly grins. He idly wonders if Dick’s face ever hurts from smiling so much.

Dick adds another finger, and it’s a lot at first. Jason breathes and Dick talks and then it’s more of the slow stretch and low praise and steady, hungry stare. A third finger joins the first two in the same way.

The ache doesn’t go away exactly but there’s a growing layer of pleasure that builds, especially when Dick crooks his fingers and Jason’s whole body _shudders_.

Dick pulls his fingers out. There’s the crinkle of a condom wrapper and then more lube.

Dick clicks his tongue like he’s considering. Then Jason is being manhandled onto his side.

“This way is just gonna be a little easier on you,” he explains.

Dick sidles up behind Jason, sliding an arm under him to pillow his head and wrap around his chest. Dick pulls the knee of Jason’s top leg up and out so he’s spread a little.

Dick plants a kiss on the back of Jason’s jawline, then speaks right in his ear. “Next time I want to see your face.”

Jason's mind is stuck on _next time_.

He can feel the tip of Dick’s cock touch his loose hole and then Dick is slowly pushing in. Jason just breathes and let’s himself feel the stretch and deep ache.

He can’t really believe he’s having sex with Dick. Dick’s _inside him_.

“You feel incredible.”

Jason snorts, but his face is warm.

“Move” he demands. Jason has no real leverage like this, and he knows it’s going to feel better if Dick would just start moving.

Dick pulls out until the tip of his cock pulls at Jason’s rim, then plunges back in steady and Jason feels something spasm in the back of his mind and he’s suddenly drowning in the smell of whiskey and metal and clay and the man at his back grips his hips too tightly and he can’t breathe; the man’s hips punch into him violently, grinding in deep, and the hands are claws and they—

No—he’s not there, he can still feel the soft sheets; it’s not the man it’s—

“Dick,” Jason chokes out.

But it’s the man who answers and he says something Jason doesn’t understand, his voice slithering across Jason’s body. Jason gasps at a rough thrust.

Jason’s tries to find that place where the waves of dizziness can dull his senses. He tries to be very still and quiet and good, letting the man use him and waiting for it to be over. He can’t stop his breath from hitching at each thrust—at the unfamiliar spark of something inside him.

His whole body is locked up and tense. He knows it will hurt less if he’s limp and relaxed, but he can’t force his muscles to unclench. 

Suddenly there’s one of those _whiskey-metal-clay_ hands in between his legs, giving him a few loose pulls in tandem with the cock splitting him in a painful rhythm. He wants to not be here, but he knows it’s pointless even as he shakes his head hard enough for spots to dot his vision.

Maybe that entices the man enough to grab his hair instead, because a second later his dick is released and the man grabs a fistful of his hair to yank his head back. The man’s fingers dig into his scalp.

He’s saying something into Jason’s ear about how tight he is and something else and something else but he lets words wash over him. The low, sultry tone makes his stomach roll. The man’s hips are still punching into him sharp and white-hot but the rest of him feels cold and numb like his skin has been bitten raw by the wind. He think's he might be dying. There's no one to care. No one is coming. 

He tells himself he’s not here, it’s not him, but the chills keep breaking out over Jason’s body and they send aching shivers across his skin. He can’t stop his hands from clutching at the sheets in knuckle-white fists.

Then the man is pulling Jason tighter against him, hot flesh scorching against his bare skin, and pistoning rapidly into him, moaning loudly and talking always talking words Jason can’t comprehend.

The man grinds in deep. Once. Twice. His moan echoes around the empty cavern of Jason’s mind, until his whole head is filled with nothing but this sound. 

Time stretches and there’s only the heat at his back, the heat inside him, and the untouchable cold that holds him frozen.

It’s completely still except for the slow rise and fall of breathing. Then the constricting hold is gone and the ache sharpens for a moment and the heat is gone too. 

He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

A hand pets his flank like it’s praising his performance, like he’s a horse who’s raced well. He lets it. Fingers ghost over his skin and this part is not entirely unpleasant. Maybe next time it will be better. The ghost fingers trace down down down, rubbing gentle circles into his flesh. 

Then suddenly they are pushing back up inside him and Jason tries to scream but all that comes out are wild gasps. He can’t move, can’t fight.

The man's fingers are pulling out and forcing in, filling the silence with a wet squelch that makes him want to gag, and it feels just like the sharp pain of before, but his stupid brain can’t figure out why it’s happening. 

He thought it was over, _so_ _why? What did he do?_

He tries to get lost again in the repetitiveness of it, to let the constant push-and-pull pain drown out with the deep cold, but then the pace changes to something staccato and quick and forceful and Jason _can’t._

He’s reaching back before he can think, grasping at the hand as it gives a lightning rough thrust deep inside him. The man seems to realize Jason’s grip on his wrist is trying to weakly tug his hand away.

Then the fingers are blessedly gone. Jason waits for a beating that never comes.

His throat feels swollen closed and the pressure behind his eyes has to mean tears but he really doesn’t know. He’s too tired to check.

Apparently that one act of defiance was all he had in him. Now his strings are cut and there's nothing to be for a long while

—

Dick immediately pulls out and backs off when he realizes Jason’s means for him to stop. He thinks he might want to switch positions or something, but then he doesn’t move.

“Jay, talk to me.”

There’s nothing but silence from Jason.

“Jason?” Dick sits up a bit more and brushes back some of the hair that’s sticking to Jason’s face.

Jason doesn’t respond, and now Dick can see that there are tears trailing down his cheeks from half-lidded eyes. Dick stares dumbly at him for a moment then feels creeping horror rise in his chest.

“Jason.” He says again, trying to get his attention. Dick resists the urge to touch him again— _find the injury, Nightwing, hurry_.

“Can you give me a color?” Dick asks, which is completely stupid because they didn’t even discuss that kind of thing because Dick didn’t think this was going to be that kind of sex—definitely not for their first time. It's clear that it's pretty fucking _red_ anyway.

“Hey honey, can you look at me please?”

Jason is unresponsive.

Shit. Fuck. _Shit_.

Dick does what he normally does when there’s a problem he can’t punch or flip away from: he talks. He talks incessantly about the most mundane parts of his life he can think of, trying to to inject calm into his voice. _Have you seen that little pug down the street that always sits just inside that bodega? Turns out Mrs. Rosario has owned him for twelve years and if you feed him some sandwich, he’ll follow you home._

He talks while he puts on sweats and a t-shirt so that he’s not naked anymore. Jason still hasn’t looked at him or spoken, but he flinches a little when Dick moves to cover him with a thick, soft blanket.

The talking doesn’t seem to be help any. It may be making it worse.

Dick doesn’t know at what point Jason stopped wanting this and Dick didn’t think to check in, didn’t think he needed to because it was _Jason_. Jay didn’t let anyone get close in a way he didn’t want.

He thought Jason would’ve drop-kicked Dick across the room if he crossed any kind of line. He’s usually unsubtle like that.

But now he’s unresponsive and Dick doesn’t know what he did and how much of this is his fault but he’s willing to say _all of it_. He’s going to bury himself in doubt and guilt later but right now Jason needs some kind of help and Dick doesn’t think he’s the one to give it. He caused this. He made Jason cry. He’s never seen Jason cry, didn’t even know it was possible.

“Jason? I’m calling Roy.”

Dick stays in the room until Roy gets there. He doesn’t touch Jason but makes sure he’s still covered by the blanket. He puts on some soft music. It sounds wrong in the space, but the silence seems even more wrong and Dicks own voice would only fill the room with bubbling panic at this point.

The lights are dimmed but pointedly on, so there’s that. It’s dark outside.

Then Dick sits across the room on a too plush chair to watch the rise and fall of Jason’s breathing, waiting for Roy to come and rescue them somehow.

Dick doesn’t know Roy that well personally, but he and Jason are pretty close. Thank the circus gods above that Roy has been staying in Gotham lately.

When Roy had groggily answered the phone, Dick skipped a greeting in lieu of hitting on the sequence of events and letting Roy piece it together the way he should.

Dick and Jason were having sex. Jason stopped him. Jason is either catatonic or near enough to it. Dick can’t fix this. Would Roy be able—

“I’m on my way” Roy interrupted, then hung up.

It’s not until he buzzes Roy up that he realizes that Jason might not have wanted Roy to know they were sleeping together. Something to add to his growing list of mistakes for the night.

Dick has the door open before Roy can knock.

“You look like shit.” Roy says.

Dick can tell it’s not meant to be harsh, just an observation.

Dick leads Roy to his bedroom. He raises an eyebrow and Dick knows he’s taking in the blanket, the music, the lights, the ineffective band-aid he tried to slap on this hemorrhage.

Roy paces around the bed to crouch by Jason’s head, then gives Dick a pointed look. Dick leaves the room to go stand in the dark kitchen.

He stands there for a long time. The tile is cold against his feet.

Dick morbidly wonders if it was something specific he did, or if something happened with someone else—something to explain what happened so that Dick can share this blame. He feels like a coward for even thinking it but the _what if’s_ still come.

_What if something had happened with Willis. What if something happened with his mom's drug dealer. With the Joker. With Ra's al Ghul._

Jesus but Jason has had some terrible people in his life.

Dick finds himself going through the motions of making tea by the light of the hallway. He fills the kettle and puts it on the stove.

Dick tells himself it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know if Jason doesn’t want to tell him. None of those people are in his life now anyway.

Really, it could have been no one at all, just a surprising, bad reaction. A side effect of PTSD or brain trauma or something.

Dick is once again hit with the disbelief of what Jason’s lived through and the fact that he's still here, teasing and laughing and working so hard to quash his more violent urges.

The kettle whistles. Dick pours the water into a mug and steeps the tea.

He holds the warm mug in both hands. It’s too hot to drink.

He doesn't think he could stomach it anyways.

They haven’t talked about it directly, but he knows Jason doesn’t have much experience. (He refuses to call what might have happened to Jason _experience_ ). Dick should have been more careful, paid closer attention.

“Where are his clothes.” Roy is standing in the entrance of the hall, blocking the light and casting long shadows across the kitchen.

It takes a moment for Dick to understand that it’s a question and another to remember the answer.

He goes to fetch Jason’s shirt from the living room, and his pants from the bathroom floor. There was never any underwear.

The rug is still damp in the bathroom. Dick had offered Jason a shower after he had been fed— _"you reek, Jay, just rinse off and stay for a while.”_ Dick had thought it was a particularly clever way to get Jason naked. The memory feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

He holds out his prizes for Roy to take, which he does.

“These are tactical pants,” Roy says. He looks calculating but it’s hard for Dick to tell at this point. Dick doesn’t know why it matters. Maybe he’s just trying to understand their relationship.

“Yeah” Dick offers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. A beat passes. “I can see if I have any sweatpants that’ll fit him.”

“No. . . I’ve got it.” Roy heads back to Jason, clothes in hand.

Dick returns to his mug, letting Roy dress Jason.

He feels a moment of panic when he realizes he’s not going to have eyes or ears on Jason that night. No com chiming in his ear or club he can track him down to.

But of course Roy is going to take Jason away, to his home, where he feels safe. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by it. Isn't that why he called Roy? He didn’t really think Jason was going to bounce back as soon as Roy walked in the door. And even if he did, he wasn’t going to waltz out and sit down for crappy cup of tea and a sitcom.

Dick can’t hear the words, but Roy’s low-pitched tone is continuous and somewhat lulling. A few minutes later Dick silently watches Jason and Roy emerge from the bedroom. Jason is bleary-eyed but upright. He doesn’t seem to be seeing anything but let’s Roy herd him into his shoes and jacket.

Jason is wearing the sweatpants Roy came in, and Roy is wearing the tactical pants.

Roy gets Jason through the threshold of the front door and then looks back at Dick to size him up. Dick looks back, standing there with his mug full of cold tea.

“I’ll let you know when we get home.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but Dick sees it for the lifeline it is. It’s Roy saying _I know you care. I don’t know what you did or what happened. I’m going to let you know we’re fine, but Jason will have to take the lead after that._

Dick just nods.

He can hear the soft music still coming from his room long after the door is shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Summary/Warnings: Jason sleeps with Dick at Dick's apartment, but when they start having sex Jason almost immediately dissociates due to heavily implied trauma. Dick doesn't initially notice. Jason manages to stop him and Dick is understandably horrified. Jason is out of it, Dick panics, and then calls Roy who comes over. Roy takes Jason home. Sad boys being sad. That's it that's the fic.
> 
> Might eff around and write these sad boys figuring out how to be happy again TBD.


End file.
